You park the car at what was once a dairy farm where now the National Trust “democratise” so not cold hands but meters cause alarm.

Across a road visitors are relieved to find old milking parlour loos beside an archway that leads to a long curved lane edged with guards of reed that obstruct the view ahead to incite anticipation.

We lead the children to where the pathway fairs into the beach, framed by the high reach of stalks rooted in our Arcadia.

Some fresh reality of shared joyas we quicken pace through that narrow place into entrancement,a shout of elements where the claustrophobe of the detriments of small spaces erodes into the expansive sunbed of yielding grained quartz.

Time to claim our hope below salt drenched thrift and campion slopes to barricade us from the insomnious land breeze keeping plain life conscious.

Last edited by fortytwo on Wed Feb 14, 2018 4:26 pm, edited 7 times in total.

This is very different from your other postings FT. An experiment? I did find the language circuitous, but perhaps that was intended. I know what you mean by those carpark charges when the NT take ownership! I guess those takings are used for a 'good cause'.

It is a departure for me Mac, you are spot on and, you know, I thoroughly enjoyed it good or bad. Although he will probably role over in his grave when I confess this,to an extent the form of the poem, attempting to move from the ordinary to the poetic, was inspired by one of my favourite poems and poets, High Windows by Philip Larkin. Thanks for reading Mac